Sunday, September 30, 2007
I am a big fan of e-books but I am still a paper slut. The excitement of seeing my novel King of Dragons, King of Men appear on Amazon was topped by the arrive of my author copies. Then yesterday I dropped into my Borders branch and they agreed to order 10 copies and hold a signing. I had this guilty little feeling that now I felt like a "real" author.
The reality check is that several of my e-books are guaranteed to out-gross KODKOM; the bulk of my work will continue to go out in e-format for that reason. But the allure of paper is undeniable and so, heck, I'm going to enjoy it. Now I just need some ideas about what to do with these authors copies other than spread them out on the ground and roll in them ;)
Friday, September 28, 2007
We're talking about favorite books, movies, manga--anything with a gay/yaoi twist. Feel free to share your personal recommendations too!
He he seemed pretty darn cool at first and I guess in a way he was but it didn't take long for him to grate on my nerves, particularly what came off to me as his lapses into what I can only think of as girly-speak. He had this monologue of sorts while leaving a phone message for his friend/FBI partner Alyssa that read to me more feminine than some female characters I've written. There were other instances and I sure hope the frequent use of "sweetie" was his own way of thumbing his nose at the status quo. It wasn't explained and perhaps I missed it because I hadn't read any of the earlier books.
As for the Robin Chadwick character. Gods, he grew tiresome very early on for me. Yes I realize he's very realistic in the portrayal of closeted men who convince themselves they're straight, but for me it came across as one of those ancient kind of old Harlequin stereotypes like the young virginal secretary who cowers in the face of the older mega experienced manly hero.
In the end I came away wanting to seriously bitchslap Robin and take Jules aside and set him on the path to becoming a nice cute uke.
I also had the almost uncontrollable urge of having him run up against the more seme hetero-flexible NYPD guys Anne and I have, just to see what would happen. :P
Still, I'm sure I'll be picking up All Through the Night just to see if these guys become more memorable for me by being the focus of the book.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
There are several ways I can start the book--several places I can start it (in terms of location). Now, for those who haven't read it, it might not make a lot of sense. But for those who have...
I have many choices: start it in the elven lands with Kalen and Micheil; start it with them back in the human lands in King Andrion's court; start it with Braen; start it with Sherrie (the princess who wants Kalen dead); start it with Breasal (the ghost)...
So, if you're a writer, where do you get your character inspiration? And if you're a reader, have you ever seen a pic of a hot guy (or guys!) who just BEGGED for a story??
Hope everyone's week has been at least somewhat relaxing. LOL Anyone got any plans for the weekend? I'll probably write; Lord knows I need to.
I've got tons of works to finish up, plus several more to start. Need to get Book 2 of Sword & Sorcery started, plus smooth out the sequel to The Prince's Angel. Oh, and finish up the edits for Realms of Fantasy (an angel/demon anthology Shayne and I have coming out in April from Samhain).
Here lately, though, I've been trying to read a little more. Recently posted my review of Robyn Young's debut novel, Brethren, on my LJ. Now I'm reading Judith Tarr's Kingdom of the Grail.
Also need to catch up on my shows. I don't watch a whole lot of TV, but I do have my favorite shows. Spongebob is definitely one. You know he's queer as a football bat, right? I mean, honestly. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see it. He and Patrick are lovers. And they're occasionally joined by Squidward, with whom they have a love/hate relationship going.
What? I'm serious!
I might share a snippet or two today, maybe take suggestions for how to start Book 2 of Sword & Sorcery...
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
This week is all about getting things done before I take off on vacation in 6 days to California. Woohoo! I’ll be spending 6 days in San Jose and 3 in Anaheim. My first ever vacation without the family. Just me and the girls. We’re calling it Californication.
The shopping gene sure passed me by. I hate shopping! Whenever I can’t buy something online, I’m at the store when it opens with the goal of getting in, getting what I need, and getting out before the clerks get cranky and there are a million customers there. Unfortunately, yesterday didn’t work for me today. I spent 4 hours at the local mall trying to find clothes for my trip. I’m still haven’t fully recovered from the experience.
I heard from my editor this weekend and Ellora’s Cave is contracting Trip My Switch. YAY! This is the edgy BDSM m/m/f ménage I was telling y’all about last month, which so captured my imagination. You can read the book blurb and an unedited excerpt by clicking here. I’m so excited about this book. The story really pushed me as an author.
I discovered a very cool website you may know about already, Out Zone TV (part of Bravo). You can watch episodes of various shows such as Boy Meets Boy. This is a reality show like the bachelor with a twist. The guy trying to find love has to figure out which of the fifteen guys on the show are gay and which are straight. And Manhunt…oh my! I highly recommend you go check out the photo galleries and episodes of this show. There’s some very nice eye candy.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Last week I saw a banner ad at tvguide.com for an As the World Turns love triangle featuring two guys and a girl, and it seemed like the two guys were actually the pairing to root for. Curious, I did a search on YouTube.
Thus, an obsession began, and I spent more than seven hours in a row watching the story of Luke and Noah unfold.
I haven't watched ATWT in twenty years, when teenaged Lily was frolicking with hunky stableboy Holden. They're amazingly still around, and it's their son Luke who's now falling for Noah, a repressed army brat who dates girls and desperately tries to fight his attraction to Luke. The actors do a terrific job -- particularly Van Hansis as Luke -- and the writing is remarkably subtle and incisive. (Granted, you'll also have to suffer through a subplot about some singer and her cliched stalker than involves a field trip to Branson, Mo., but the Luke/Noah story is worth it, trust me.) Maddie, Luke's friend and Noah's short-term girlfriend, is warm and sympathetic, and Holden and Lily are very supportive of Luke. Noah's father is unfortunately turning out to be a bit of an eeeeeevil bastard, but it is a soap, after all.
If you're interested in catching up on Noah and Luke's story, you can find all 64 parts (and counting) here, including their historic first kiss -- the first real kiss between two men in American daytime TV history.
I also wrote some fanfic, because no obsession is complete without it.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Andrew Vought is a wealthy single parent who’s all but given up on love. Ryan Ward is an up-and-coming landscape architect, who’s never believed true love exists.
In each other’s arms, they find the love they’ve sought. But can a budding new love survive the secret both men harbor?
What the reviewers are saying:
“Sizzling sexual tension heats up the pages from the time Ms. Young’s character meet, and as their journey continues a sweet romance develops and grows. Lust is a powerful factor in this story, but it’s love that gives these men the chance they need for a beautiful future together.”
~ Reviewed by Water Nymph for Literary Nymphs
4 Blue Ribbons
“SINS OF THE PAST by Amanda Young is a charming and sensuous tale.”
~ Reviewed by Christina
“Sins of the Past raises itself above the average and is well worth a read.”
~ Reviewed by British Bull Dog
Excerpt from Sins of the Past
© Copyright 2007 Amanda Young
Now Available at Samhain Publishing
Andrew weaved around bodies left and right. He spotted Ryan and Nick slightly ahead of him and off to the right. Ryan had his head thrown back, laughing uproariously at something Nick was busy whispering in his ear. Breathing a sigh of relief at having finally found them, he shuffled forward. Then he noticed the way Nick shifted closer to Ryan, his hands falling to cradle Ryan’s hips as they moved to the music, and molten anger shimmered through his veins.
How dare he? How dare Nick rub all up against Ryan, like some bitch in heat? And why was Ryan just standing there, letting him do it? The bastard.
Andrew took a wobbly step forward, his hands balling up into fists at his sides. A man the size of a small mountain stepped into his path, blocking his view of Ryan. He stopped, ready to tell the guy to move the hell out of his way, and looked up, and then up some more. Damn, the guy was tall.
At six feet, Andrew wasn’t used to having anyone tower over him. Sure, some guys were taller than him. Ryan was an inch or two taller. But this guy, God, he had to be close to seven feet or more. He tried to step around the man, only to be stopped by the Amazon’s hand landing on his shoulder.
“How about a dance, pretty?” The man’s voice was gruff and scratchy, like maybe he’d smoked one too many cigarettes. His words didn’t sound like a question, more like an order. Normally that would’ve ticked Andrew off. He didn’t like being bossed around. Tonight, however, it sent a little tingle of excitement shivering down his spine.
Andrew leaned to the side—almost tipped over, before he could catch his balance—and glanced around the goliath. Ryan was still absorbed in Nick’s sparkling wit, or whatever the hell it was he found so entertaining.
He turned to the goliath. “Sure.” What the hell. It wasn’t as if his date would mind. The bastard was too busy letting Nick hang all over him to pay any attention to what he was doing.
“Bud,” the man said, holding out his hand.
Andrew accepted the shake and watched his hand disappear inside the larger man’s paw. “Andrew.”
He started to pull back his hand, but found it trapped in the vise-like grip of Bud’s closed fist. Bud smiled, the upward tilt of his thin lips taking away some of the severity from the chiseled planes of his face, and gave Andrew’s hand a sharp tug. Pulled off balance, Andrew stumbled forward, his face smacking into the middle of the behemoth’s sternum.
Bud’s gigantic forearms closed around his back and pulled him up tight against him. Andrew held himself stiffly, not aiding but not exactly resisting either, as Bud began to sway to the beat of the music. Against his cheek, he could feel the steady thumpedy-thump of the man’s heart beating. Every granite muscle in Bud’s torso flexed and rippled as he shimmied them back and forth.
The song seemed to last forever before it finally began to slow to its end. Andrew let out a breath of relief, glad the dance was over. The arms around him loosened and he sucked in a deep breath, inhaling the pungent scent of sweat and cheap cologne.
It wasn’t a bad smell, just not the one he wanted. Not like Ryan. Ryan always smelled of woodsy cologne with a hint of the underlying musky testosterone that exuded from his pores.
He mumbled a hushed thanks to Bud for the dance and spun around, intent on finding Ryan. He didn’t have to look far. Ryan stood a couple of feet behind him, his hip propped against the wall, a glower on his handsome face and fire in his eyes. With his arms across his broad chest and his jaw clenched tight enough to grind nails, Ryan did not look happy. He looked mad as a wet cat, and that put a spring in Andrew’s step as he strutted over to him.
“Who was that?” Ryan barked out as soon as Andrew got close enough to hear him over the music.
For spite, he glanced back at Bud and waved. “Oh, that’s just Bud,” he answered as nonchalantly as he could. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, trying to pop out, but he restrained it.
Ryan humphed and came up off the wall. He moved in close, so close Andrew could count the individual black eyelashes framing his eyes. “If you can dance with Bud,” he said, spitting out the other man’s name as if it left a vile taste in his mouth, “then you can dance with me.”
Andrew shrugged. “I guess so.”
Ryan must not have liked the response because his eyes flashed a deeper shade of brown and the grinding of his teeth started up again. The smile Andrew had been fighting broke free and spread across his face. He couldn’t help it, seeing Ryan jealous was so sweet. It more than made up for the brief bout of insecurity he’d felt upon viewing Ryan and Nick dancing together.
“You little shit,” Ryan muttered, hauling Andrew into his arms and up against the lean contours of his body. “You’re getting a kick out of this, aren’t you?”
Andrew rested his arms on Ryan’s shoulders and sank his fingers into the soft hair at the base of Ryan’s neck, kneading the taut muscles. With a contented sigh, he shifted himself a bit deeper into Ryan’s embrace, resting his cheek against Ryan’s stubbled one. “So what if I am? It’s what you deserve.”
Ryan’s arms tightened around the small of Andrew’s back and he began to move, swaying his hips, taking Andrew’s body along for the ride. Their groins brushed together with every pass, allowing Andrew to feel how hard Ryan was for him. He swallowed back a groan, feeling his own cock stir at the contact.
Fingertips grazed the rise of his bottom. Andrew shivered, clenching his ass cheeks to stop the needy ache he felt inside.
Ryan must have felt the tremor pass through his body, must have felt their pricks rubbing together as Andrew did, because the riled expression in his eyes wavered and was replaced by something that looked a hell of a lot like more like hunger than aggravation.
Ryan’s breath was warm and moist as it wafted over his ear. “I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve seeing you all cuddled up with that dumb-ass lumberjack. Not when you hadn’t even agreed to dance with me yet.”
Andrew rotated his hips, pressing in a little harder against Ryan, dragging their pricks together and teasing them both in the process. “I’m dancing with you, aren’t I?”
A growl rumbled through Ryan’s chest. Andrew felt the vibrations more than heard it, and damned if it wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever experienced.
“You know what I mean,” Ryan grumbled.
“Yes, I know what you mean. Just like I know while you were supposed to be in the bathroom, you were actually dancing with Nick.”
“I went to the bathroom, Andrew. Nick caught me as I was coming out. That’s all.”
Andrew felt an irrational surge of the same anger he’d experienced earlier at seeing Nick latched onto his man. “He was hanging all over you.”
Wait. Had he just thought of Ryan as his man?
“He was only talking to me, baby.” Ryan paused, his lips feathering over Andrew’s cheek. “I do think it’s cute that you’re so jealous though.”
“You’re one to talk,” Andrew replied.
Ryan sighed, blowing hot air over Andrew’s ear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Andrew shivered, goose bumps of arousal popping up all over his skin. He let go of Ryan’s neck, ran his hand between their bodies and gave Ryan’s nipple a sharp twist.
Ryan jerked his head back. “Hey! That hurt.”
Andrew smiled and snuggled back into place. “It wasn’t supposed to feel good.”
“Then why the hell did you do it?”
“You were asking for it.”
“I didn’t ask you to twist my damn nipple off.”
“I was hoping it would refresh your memory. Do you still not know what I meant?”
Andrew pinched Ryan’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger and cocked an eyebrow.
“All right, all right, I might have been a tiny bit jealous when I saw you dancing with the marshmallow man over there.”
Andrew grinned. “Marshmallow man?” That’s not how he would’ve described Bud.
“Yeah, marshmallow man.” The petulant look on his face warned Andrew not to contradict Ryan’s description, though Bud’s body was anything but soft.
He snorted and leaned in to rub his cheek on Ryan’s shoulder. Who would have thought he would actually like a touch of possessiveness in a lover? He never had before, but then again, none of the few men he’d been with were Ryan. The man could make anything, even jealousy, look good.
“What? You have a thing for big, brainless meatheads now? You know his balls are probably the size of small acorns because of all the steroids he’s taken, right?”
“No, I have a thing for tall, cute landscape architects, who ride motorcycles and get jealous at the drop of a hat.”
“Mmm–hmm.” He leaned up and pressed his lips against Ryan’s, oblivious to the party going on around them. For once in his life, he didn’t care if he was putting on a show. All he knew was Ryan and the chemistry and warmth sparking between them like static electricity, the delicious press of their chests and the desire he saw mirrored back to him through Ryan’s eyes. “Know where I can find someone like that?”
“Oh I might be able to think of someone,” Ryan murmured against the corner of Andrew’s mouth.
Ryan’s lips covered his, not with pressure but with a gentle coaxing sensation that melted Andrew’s knees and forced him to incline against Ryan’s chest for support as their lips, teeth and tongues dueled, heedless of the spectators around them. The roof could have caught fire and he wouldn’t have cared. All he wanted was more. More of Ryan, more of that one single moment when everything began to slide into place and he realized what he felt for Ryan was growing in leaps and bounds. Steadily spinning away from like and well on its way to another four letter word that should have scared the shit out of him, but surprisingly didn’t.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
One is set on Earth, a couple hundred years in the future, after the Big Climate Change destroys civilization as we know it. This story is called "Dragon's Kiss" and will be out in the print zine Forbidden Love in the upcoming Sacred Bands issue (don't know the release date for sure, sorry).
Click here to check out Anne Cain's artwork for it! (warning for full frontal male nudity in pencils)
The other story, "Into The Black," first appeared in issue #1 of Forbidden Love and will soon be making an encore appearance in the free gay fiction ezine Forbidden Fruit. This story was described by one reviewer as "an intergalactic Sopranos" which is pretty much on the money *g* It's gritty and a bit dark, but with a happy ending. It's set on a space station orbiting Pluto, at an unnamed date in the future, after the Earth has become uninhabitable.
I'd like to expand both these stories into novel-length, but I don't know which to tackle first. What do y'all think? Post-apocolyptic Earth society, or space opera? Help me pick!
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Edits can be grueling. I can't think of an author who unequivocally loves doing edits. But self-editing is a necessary part of the writing process. For me, one of the joys of reading through my work multiple times means I get to fall in love with my characters again.
Over and over again.
You see, if I can't fall in love with my characters and the story, then I'm pretty sure a reader can't either. And if I've read something four times, and I still end with a smile on my face from having a satisfying read, then I know it's a good book. That doesn't mean it won't need more polishing or even a critique partner or two to hack it to bits. But deep down, in spite of whatever flaws the story may have at this stage of the game, it's a good, solid love story.
If I didn't love the characters the first time, I wouldn't have written their story. Working with the prose and falling in love with them again...well, that's what makes this writer smile. And hoepfully, when it's all said and done, you too!
Friday, September 21, 2007
Ever since I read about it on one of email loops I've been wondering if Suzanne Brockmann's new book will open NY publishers to m/m. Of course the fact that she already sells well makes the "usual rules" not apply. Still, this has to be good for all of us right?
Cover Blurb All Through the Night:
It’s Christmastime in Boston, and this year the silver bells will be wedding bells as FBI agent Jules Cassidy ties the knot with the man of his dreams, Hollywood heartthrob Robin Chadwick.
The pair plan a quiet, intimate ceremony, to be witnessed by family and close friends from the FBI, SEAL Team Sixteen, and Troubleshooters, Incorporated, including Sam Starrett and Alyssa Locke. But the holiday season brings more to the happy couple than they expect.
A waterfall coming through their kitchen ceiling, a bat colony in the attic, old family tensions…even an international incident can’t dampen their spirits. But add to that a parade of unexpected guests, including a reporter looking for a scoop, an ex-lover hell-bent on causing trouble, and a dangerous stalker, and suddenly the wedding is poised to unravel in chaos.
But nothing will stop Jules and Robin from getting their happy ending, because along with a guest list featuring the most elite counterterrorism force in the world, they have their own secret weapon - true love
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Oh, they are sexy. When I found out Torquere Press was doing a second Anthology I had to contribute. Woof. I love marines, cops, soldiers of any stripe.
My story is a gritty, science fiction bit, "The Red Jungle." Space Marines! I love 'em. These guys are a second pairing in this universe actually. The first is "End of Service," a little drabble which I'll post the link to at the end of my rambling. I'm actually working my way into my NaNoWriMo project tentatively titled "The Devil in All of Us." It'll be a gritty Sci-Fi as well. These two stories "The Red Jungle" and "End of Service" are world building efforts.
Devil will be pretty edgy. There will be some non-con, force body modification, tenticle sex, death... angsty stuff. It has been gnawing at me for a while to be written. So, I'll use NaNo to do it.
Snippit? You want a Snippit? Okay, twist my arm....
God, why was he stuck with all these raw recruits. Rhetorical question that, take a hit, go back to P.T. to recoup and they had to do something with you. Nobody sat idle in a war. Perfect solution, at least in a military mind-fuck, give the walking wounded babysitting duty. As he limped along hunting for idiots out past curfew, Sergeant Joe Ferizzie flicked his gaze across the rows of tents. A green on green on black world bloomed under the lenses of his G-6ucs– Generation Six Ultra Combat Snipers. Technology made the night vision goggles as small as a set of birth control glasses while officering more vision under less light than versions 0 to 5. Military planning made it smaller, but left everything in a DOS prompt color scheme. In Jarhead speak the DOD designation for his night vision goggles translated to: G-sucks.
Joe felt that was pretty spot-on.
The generators’ steady drone washed in a distinctly martial lullaby over the nighttime camp. Discordant, rumbley, back beats came in on the wind from supply vehicles on the move. Fainter still, the whine of faraway artillery crept under it all. Pretty babies, sleepy, sleepy. He stifled his own laughter. Soon, oh too soon, you’ll be moving up front and wondering what the hell hit ya. After a six day recovery from their drug induced transport comas, the fresh meat would be tossed out into battle. If lingering DT’s didn’t kill ‘em, the shock of being dropped into the Red Jungle just might.
Whiny, sheltered kids all of them. They had no blazing clue what was waiting for them out there. Eons from HQ, virtual years from a supply dump and maybe days from your own command post… babies you’re lucky if you get wipies to wipe your ass with much less coffee in the a.m. Shit, they’d be lucky if their issued flak jacket didn’t date from the end of the 20th century. Ferizzie’s own unit used ones with spray painted rust and brown on navy fabric. It covered the So.Cal. Metro S.W.A.T. logo stamped across the back. The only reason they had those was that Joe had written his partner begging for cast off gear. Mike, when they were still speaking, sent him ones the urban defense combat units didn’t consider suitable for service any longer.
Joe lifted his G-6’s and the world dropped into black. Blinking the sweat out of his eyes, the sergeant used the hem of his already damp t-shirt to mop his face before flipping the night specs back down. The weather was spiraling into a heat comparable only to hell. Morale slid lower and lower in inverse proportion to the upward movement of the thermostat. Fights blossomed in the tent cities. The grunts were doing a decent job of keeping them on the down-low. Like any good sergeant, Ferizzie knew all about them. Sometimes it was best not to get involved; let it all shake out on its own. Fights sorted the pecking order of the troops. As long as no one came out unfit for duty, a good leader left it alone.
Damned to drop-grunt purgatory, living the same day over and over again until the reprieve of discharge or death would tax men under the best circumstances. A war on some jungle covered, God-forsaken rock was hardly the best of circumstances. Once they made the show, they’d all find better ways to occupy themselves… like keeping their skin in one piece. Nothing was normal or natural in the Red Jungle. The air tasted like sulfur and the water like asparagus laden piss. Crimson leafed trees seemed to sway without wind. The plants whispered to each other as you passed. Touch the spongy orange bark with bare skin and you’d come away with blisters. He could only hope that the enemy was as bad off the Marines in the Red Jungle. If not, well it’d be a real short tour in this hell-hole.
You can buy Men In Uniform II here: http://www.torquerebooks.com/zencart/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=598
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Something for everyone to think about which has nothing to do with writing or m/m--a soapbox rant by Annmarie
Well, here's your wake up call.
Three years ago my brother had a heart attack at 31 years old! 31. Not 73, not 82, but 31. Now granted, at the time he smoked and ate horribly. In fact, he was in the drive thru lane at Taco Bell when he had his rather large heart attack. They put a stent in and warned him to change his lifestyle. We all thought those were the reasons it had happened.
Fast forward three years to last weekend.
My mother has chest pains. She is 63. The first time, she discounted the pain in her chest and arms and jaws, the sweatiness, the out of breath feeling. She'd been walking at the time. When she sits down, the pain subsides. My mother walks 3 miles every day and goes to Curves three times a week. She eats the right foods. Never had high blood pressure or bad cholesterol checks, never been sick a day in her life. Two days later, the same pain only this time worse. Off to the emergency room we go.
Turns out my mother had a 95% blockage in an artery that carries 1/3 of the blood supply to her heart! Can you say, hello? What caused this in a woman so healthy? Must have been my grandpa Marvin, because oh yeah! He died of his own heart attack. Except back then no one thought anything of it because he had a whole slough of other problems.
Now we know the problem. Hereditary sticky cholesterol which doesn't make your cholesterol numbers high and isn't picked up with that particular test. Nice. I have a sister who's 38. I am 31 and I can't stop thinking, when's it my turn?
I have an appointment with my doctor next week. Is this making anyone else think the same thing? It should.
Monday, September 17, 2007
This story centers on a character, Christopher, from my M/M/M Valentine themed Fetish Heatsheet (also available at Phaze). I thought it only fair that Christopher have a happy ending too.
We first meet young, charming, and sexy Christopher O’Malley on Valentine’s Night in New York City helping his friends Michael and Todd complete their most hidden fantasies. This night helped Christopher create his own flights of imagination where love and bondage were once just a passing fancy, along with an erotic BDSM book series written by Master Stafon.
Spending the Christmas holiday on the east coast, Christopher finds himself without family or friends. That is until he meets little Emily, her mother Devyn and her uncle Mason…a writer whose pen name is Master Stafon.
Christopher is instantly attracted to Mason, even before he discovers the man’s profession. As Christmas draws near, the holiday looks more appealing as Mason gives Christopher the opportunity of a lifetime. To experience some bondage play first hand. Could this be the gift that keeps on giving?
enWrappture is scheduled to be released Nov. 19, 2007
I'm also looking forward to my M/M/F menage book, Bonded Hearts, to be released at Loose-Id Dec. 4, 2007. Two hot men and a sexy dragon who can shape shift. All the ingredients for a delicious story. I can't wait to see the cover. I'm sure I'll be showing it off when I get it.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
The genres I read were determined largely by what was available in bulk. I read my way voraciously through the entire stock of my small town public library and haunted the new books rack. I was an almost daily customer at the local book exchange but my habits obliged me to limit myself largely to the two cheapest shelves. The exchange stocked used books and listed two prices on the cover, what you paid and the amount that would get back if you returned the book. Literary hardbacks reached lofty figures such as $1/50c, but both romances and westerns were much more accessible at 30c/20c (although the proprietor would tease me because, packrat that I was, I never returned a single one of those grubby yellowbacks). My budding mind was steeped in the frustration and joy of the most popular comfort genres of the days, each story following a tried and true arc of hope, obstacle, effort and victory while my real life was stuck in a bucolic New Zealand town.
But, to be honest, it was the dour cowboy anti-hero who drew me the most. To my mind, the idea that these adventures were set in American history was quite beside the point. It never occurred to me to care whether the historical setting was accurate; the Wild West nestled beside Narnia and Earthsea in a foggy map of places a Kiwi girlchild cannot really visit except through a literary portal.
Very early on I developed a realization that the books were fantasies. Impoverished flower-girls did not really get swept off their feet by brooding Dukes, any more than a fast draw could stop you from getting thoroughly aerated when you stood up to five bad guys in an open street. I was vaguely dissatisfied with events such as ladies wearing small masks becoming completely unrecognizable, grown women passing as boys and rough highwaymen robbing unescorted ladies only of their, um, pearls. But if that is what needed to happen for the hero to take up his noble mantle, then I was willing to suspend disbelief from quite dizzying heights.
And so, weaned upon my treasured pulps, I finally ventured to write an ‘historical’ tale or two. Well, to be quite specific, two. My western ‘Dealing Straight’ (Loose Id) and my regency ‘The Highwayman’ (Cobblestone Press). I am heartily fond of both stories, and intermittently deeply guilty. And this is why: I respect the pin point accuracy and authentic detail of thorough historical romance writers. Roberta Gellis is my personal hero, and Chelsea Quinn Yarbro books take up an entire shelf beside my writing desk. But my greatest love is still the pulp novel where women act like modern harridans in Tudor costume and cowboys gallop all day across the desert without even watering their horses.
I wrote ‘Dealing Straight’ while living in Scotland, having barely ever set foot in the USA and to this day I have never been anywhere that could easily be described as ‘west’. I own one non-fiction book about the historical west, but I have not read it. I have ridden a horse, briefly, twice—and thoroughly hated it both times. My research for ‘The Highwayman’ was reading one book about highwaymen throughout history—which shows quite clearly that they were largely rampant murders and rapists who deserved the gallows they went to; and the first series of the ‘Dick Turpin’ series from the seventies on DVD—whose implausibly bloodless antics suited me rather better.
And yet, let a writer set their tale in my backyard and they had better get it right! No Kiwi heroes speaking like Crocodile Dundee, no psychologists whose theories seem to come from the unholy lovechild of Freud and a fortune cookie, no new age vegetarian super-wolves, please. So where does that leave me? At this point, something of a hypocrite unless you will accept my proposition that there are two quite separate genres here, historical and history-lite:
Historical writing makes every effort to be accurate, the writer poring over their sources, comparing contrasting claims and hunting down the earliest and most consistent accounts. The story is slipped into the voids between those people who did exist, riding the tides of those things that did actually happen. It is an extraordinary and superior skill to be able to marry history to fiction and honor both. It is not a skill that I, as yet, can claim—bat also not, perhaps, one I aspire to.
History-lite or popular history is more like an alternative universe. In this place, based entirely on other fictions or accounts of dubious merit, good guys wear white hats and you can shoot the buttons of a man’s shirt with homemade bullets from an unrifled pistol barrel. The pony express in this West is a life-staving legend that made orphans into heroes, not a money-losing mistake that lasted a few short months. Meanwhile the regency ladies are, as far as we can tell, in possession of all their teeth, clean in body and clothing and constantly at a ball--and the hero, no matter how rampant in his wild youth, will never come down with syphilis.
Places like the Wild West no longer exist merely (did I really write ‘merely’?) as history, they are a place of dreams and ideals where Wyatt Earp wears low cut Levi’s and Calamity Jane is a svelte bottle-blonde. But this tradition of the West is as much a part of the west as the dreary reality—after all, it was started by the men and women who lived in the real thing—and chose in their own tales, memoirs and shows to seriously embellish upon the truth from the very beginning. Their own serialized tales were also more costume drama that memoir – to an extent that would have made Le Vey look like a dour archivist.
Fiction offers many layers of fantasy and these faux versions have their own extensive rules and canon to observe and peculiarly—their own history--and serve their own purpose. It is up to reader and writer to decide which they prefer. As, I realize, I have done.
When I read a story set in New Zealand I prefer the native voice or a thoroughly researched simulacrum, because I am wedded to the real country which one can still visit—and I would argue we have little in the way of a parallel mythology to draw upon. Whilst there is a rampant mythology about psychology and profiling, being acquainted with the real thing I prefer the authentic voice and avoid the pop psych extremes some readers revel in (and don’t begrudge their preference!). But while many might prefer the gritty truth of the Victorian American frontier I prefer the land I first discovered, mapped by Grey and Lamour as lovingly as Middleearth for all its outrageous inaccuracies.
It is Gotham not New York, Disney not Animal Planet, -- a highwayman is not, for me, a mugger with silver buckled shoes. He is indeed a creature no less mythical than a unicorn or superman, but in my world he is neatly placed, and after a fashion, real. So my guilt in writing historical of a less than authentic stripe is no worse than my feeling after eating a whole pack of cookies on my own. Maybe it wasn’t good for me, but I like the way it tastes—and I hope at least some of my readers do too. Which is not to say that I don’t like the occasional gourmet pudding too….
Friday, September 14, 2007
These sketches were made while I tried to figure out out how the two guys should look, and also how they'd act around each other. Matt is very playful while Haku tends to be more mature, but their different personalities don't stop them from sharing a deep intimacy.
See? Even when Haku is trying to focus on grading a term paper, his thoughts have a tendency to drift over to Matt...or certain parts of Matt, anyway. ;)
Meet Maaya, the demon god who stirs up some trouble for Matt and Haku. Maaya's design is based on two major influences: sexy Bollywood hottie, Arjun Rampal, and the Prince of Persia. In this early sketch, he even raided the Prince's closet. >_> And who is the woman getting cozy with the demon god...? The curious will have to read "Parallel Process" to find out...
Thursday, September 13, 2007
I’m not here in Marrakech to play tourist to your native or wind through the bazaars in search of an exotic souvenir, and I’m not here to hang out with your playboy brothers, as tempting as that once was. I’m here to find you, to tell you that I’m sorry for being an ass... again.
And when I finally find you - with another man - I watch from behind the hanging silks at some underground club and try to convince myself that what I see is a casual thing, that you’d picked him up on a whim because you needed someone, anyone, to make you forget that you miss me. You don’t look at him like you looked at me, and I’m pretty sure he won’t fuck you like I fucked you. I see him whisper along your neck and know he’s telling you what you want to hear, moving against your body like he thinks you want him to move. Remember that night in Paris? Or our weekend in Marseilles? He can’t do that to you.
I’m still staring when you look my way. You don’t notice me at all, or are you pretending I’m not there? I let go of the red cloth I’m hiding behind like a coward and finally say the words you wanted to hear.
I love you.
And I even throw in a few more like, I want you back. Back home. Now.
But it’s too late. On the dance floor, he’s kissing you. Kissing you good.
I head for my hotel, and while you stay on the other side of town, rocking the Kasbah or whatever the hell that place was called, I’m rocking the bed you should be in, with only my hand and a pillow wet with tears to keep me company.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Overall, we are less inhibited and freer in both self exploration and expression. A lot of the change likely has to do with the internet and unlimited exposure to new information and ideas. A few simple words entered into a search engine results in a wide variety of sources for enlightenment.
I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject? How were you introduced to m/m relationships and fiction?
My introduction into m/m relationships came from a co-worker who became a close friend. I was a bit…naïve, so it was a shock to discover the sight of Greg and Matt making out turned me on and I tried not to think about it. Not until I began reading erotic fiction did I discover that I wasn’t the only woman who found watching two men together to be hot.
My first story to be published, Passionate Realities, is a ménage relationship with two men and a woman. It was natural to feel the pull of bringing the heroes together, but I fought against it. At the time, there were very few erotic romances with m/m interaction available through the mainstream e-pubs. In the end, I gave in and allowed the heroine to ease her guys into what started as her desire, but quickly became theirs too.
Here’s a brief teaser from Passionate Realities, available from Ellora's Cave.
He spread her ass cheeks wide then waited until Travis was buried to the hilt. He could hear Travis’ balls slapping lightly against her flesh. Lifting her slightly, Aiden sunk two fingers into her dripping wet pussy.
He stroked his fingers in and out of her narrowed opening, waiting to feel her muscles relax around Travis. With each stroke he was caressing Travis’ cock through the thin membrane separating the channels. Strangely, the realization made his cock grow harder.
Looking over his shoulder into Travis’ eyes they shared the knowledge of what the caress was doing to both of them. When he was sure Cass was ready, Aiden guided his cock to the mouth of her vagina. With Travis’ cock in her ass, her pussy was even tighter than normal.
Working slowly he sheathed his cock to the hilt. Because of his reclining position, his balls slapped against Travis’, sending an electric current through both men. They moaned in unison.
“Oh, boys. I’m so full.” Cassandra’s voice was raspy.
Both men remained perfectly still. “Open your eyes, Cass. Look at me.” When she complied, Aiden asked, “Are you okay?”
Her eyes were glazed and she could barely speak, but both men heard every whispered word. “I can’t… Oh, God…so good.” Her tone became pleading. “Fuck me, hard.”
The connection between the two men became stronger than they would have ever believed possible. They had shared women before, but never filling her at the same time. Moving in concert, each stroke was a caress shared by all three. They felt each inch of the other’s cock with every movement along the thin membrane separating them.
Travis gasped with each movement as Aiden’s shaft penetrated Cass, and brushed against the length of his own cock, buried deep inside her ass. The multiple sensations made him wonder what it would be like to fuck his friend’s ass while Aiden fucked Cass’ pussy.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Er, so to speak.
So I thought I'd share my three favourite shots of top jocks getting up close and personal.
Monday, September 10, 2007
From what I saw, it looks to be a fun little paranormal show, with a quirky sense of humor, but what I kept thinking through most of it was "mmm... Jack...pretty." *g*
The actor who plays Captain Jack Harkins, John Barrowman, is adorable. Even if the show stank, which it most certainly does not, I think I'd have to keep tuning in just to drool over him. And rumor has it that the second season will show Captain Jack getting frisky with Ianto. Mmmm... I can hardly wait for that.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Click here to purchase the book.
Be warned, "That Voodoo" is NOT my usual angsty HEA. This story is dark with a capital "D". But it's still one hell of a read :D
Here's an excerpt to whet your appetite:
It was the smell that got me.
Rich, spicy, musky. Like sandalwood and cloves, with a big dose of raw sex. Never smelled anything like that. One whiff, and I was hard as a fucking diamond. So, yeah. The leather and skin and prettiness caught my eye, but it was the way the kid smelled that sealed the deal.
I thought he was a girl at first. Little wisp of a thing in a black leather mini-skirt and a pink t-shirt that wouldn’t have been out of place on a high school girl. Shoulder length black hair with maroon streaks in it, cinnamon skin, great big eyes that matched the water of St. Ann’s Bay only a hundred yards or so from the corner he was working. And damn if that red-painted mouth wasn’t just made for sucking cock. Prettiest goddamn thing I’d ever seen.
I was about to pass him by. Not into little girls, thank you very much, no matter how pretty they are. And I knew a place just up the narrow little street where the boys were young and relatively clean. But he grabbed me as I walked past. Those chipped black fingernails dug right into my arm, and I didn’t have any choice but to stop.
“Hey, mister, you looking for a date?” His voice was husky, too deep for that delicate little body. That’s when I realized she was a he, and my interest level shot right up.
“Maybe.” I gave him my best cool-customer smile. “What’s it gonna cost me?”
“Hundred and fifty American for an hour. Thousand for the night. I go to your place, you give me cab fare in the morning. Not included.”
He had only the faintest trace of Jamaican accent. It confused me. After twelve years living in St. Ann, I’d learned to tell the difference between natives and transplants, but damned if I could place this boy.
I laughed. “Way too steep, kiddo. Good luck with that, though. ‘Night.”
I started to turn away. His hand tightened, pulled, and before I knew it he had that sweet little body pressed tight against me. Didn’t faze me any. I’d been around the block a time or ten, and my dick hadn’t been my boss for ages.
“Better let go, kid,” I said. “I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if you make me.”
He smiled, slow and lazy. Those pale blue eyes looked almost white against his dusky skin. The combination had me thinking, Jamaican hooker meets rich white tourist who’s happy to pay extra for a bare fuck, but not for the bastard kid he leaves behind.
The lack of accent argued against that theory, but you never know. Made me thank God, Allah and Mistress Erzulie herself for making me gay. I’ve always been a selfish prick, but I don’t see how a man looks at himself in the mirror knowing he’s got a kid out there someplace starving. Or worse, whoring on a seedy street corner.
“I’m worth the money, mister,” he said. “I can make you feel like you never felt before.”
He pressed his crotch into my thigh. I could feel how hard he was, which was something different. Most of the boys working the streets of St. Ann didn’t ever get it up.
“That’s what they all say.” I played it cool. “Why should I think you’re different?”
He stood on tiptoe in his high-heeled black leather boots, and rubbed his cheek against mine. That’s when I caught that smell, and it went straight to my dick.
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Okay, so my latest release from Changeling isn't M/M. No, I've got edits on my next men on horseback book to take care of next week. But, I thought I'd share with you the hotness that is the inspiration for Rody, my hero.
It's those blue eyes that get me every time...
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Parapsychology students Matt and Haku are as into each other as figuring out the things that go bump in the night. With demons on the loose, a lustful devil god on the prowl and a missing key to hell, the semester won’t be easy.
Haku’s roommate was gone, the two-hundred square foot room empty, and one window open over Haku’s bed on the right. Matt locked the door once they entered and wiggled his eyebrows.
“No time for your games, Matthew,” Haku said, peeling off his T-shirt and heading to the bathroom. He closed the door before Matt could follow him inside, figuring his lover would take the hint.
Haku washed quickly and brushed his teeth. He went out to get dressed and froze in the doorway. Matt lay naked and spread-eagle on his bed, one arm tucked behind his head and playful smile on his lips.
“Maaattt, no…” Haku whimpered.
“Yesssss,” Matt drawled. He held up a condom in one hand and a tube of lube in the other.
Taking a deep breath, Haku closed his eyes and turned toward the closet, determined not to be swayed by the sight of the hot abs, well-toned thighs, or the long, hard cock that he wanted to feel buried deep inside him.
“Haku-chan,” Matt called in a singsong voice that gave Haku a shiver.
“I’m not listening,” Haku retorted, forcing himself to stare at the white button-down shirt in front of him. He put the shirt on, grabbing a pair of navy Dockers for himself and then a pale blue shirt for Matt. “Those black jeans of yours don’t look too shabby. You’ll be able to get by.”
“The only thing I want to get is into you.” Most of the time Matt’s deep voice had an affable tone that matched his friendly, easygoing personality. But, damn if he couldn’t lower his timbre into a husky, seductive purr that was pure sex. Haku refused to acknowledge the burning attraction.
Of course, his cock and balls had other ideas.
“Matt. No,” he said, taking the clothing and turning to face his best friend and lover. “Oh, God…”
Matt hadn’t moved from the bed. His legs parted and cock hard, he arched his back, making his penis stand up farther as he rolled the condom all the way to the organ’s thick base. He held the shaft upright to let a stream of lube trickle down the firm length.
“Come on, Haku. You know you want to.”
Haku bit his lip and closed his eyes to take a long, slow breath. They didn’t have time for this. They had important things to do. His roommate might come in at any second—
Oh, shit. That sexy drawl went straight through him. He opened his eyes, cursing the allure of Matt’s charming grin and perfect body. Nevertheless, he found his clothes gathering into a pile on his dresser as he got naked, then padded over barefoot to the bed.
I admit, I'm hooked on a few serial stories: military gay fiction for the most part. There's something about getting to know the characters, slowly over time. It's like a relationship. I have a serial story, Cheating Chance, running with my publisher, Torquere Press. People seem to really connect to Nicky and Brandon. The second book, Inland Empire, is already done, the third one, All or Nothing, is being planned. Nicky is a Nevada Gaming Control Agent and Brandon is a Closeted, Riverside Vice Detective. Gambling cheats, drugs, murders: their stories are like roller coaster rides.
Maybe, I like what I read because they're military. If I found slash/gayfic cops I'd read 'em too. My inbox is littered with RSS feeds from the FBI and several Police Departments. I have a serious thing for uniforms. Everyone else slows down at an accident to see what happened. I slow to see what police department showed up. I know the difference between the summer uniform, basic uniform and the training uniform for most So. Cal departments. Riot gear, combat boots, batons and a Sam-Brown belt...shiver.
The thought of two sexy guys in uniform...together...really does it for me. I know it's one of the reasons I write cops. It is, possibly, the ultimate in masculinity: dominance, power, control. I've been toying with a science fiction military piece for the same types of reasons. There are things you can do with and to soldiers/police as characters that people wouldn't "buy" from any other type of character. They can be ballsy and brash, but still have a more sensitive core.
They're a blast to write as well. You want to bash someone's head into a wall. Guess what, your character can. Think about what a cop could do while a guy is handcuffed. Oh, wait, I wrote that story... twice.
I may never understand why I read and write these guys. I just have to accept I love it.
photo 1 is from bigphoto.com and is public domain with credit. photo 2 is from the US Federal archives and as such is public domain.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
When his girlfriend demands he settle down and start a family, Cole Winchester has some hard decisions to make. Marry his girlfriend, or finally own up to his taboo attraction to other men.
Cole Winchester feels like a rat, boxed into a corner. Faced with the prospect of being trapped in a passionless marriage, he makes the hard choice to end his relationship.
A run in with an old friend on the beach, propels Cole’s fantasies out into the open and forces him to confront his taboo desires. Before him, lies the choice of a lifetime—embrace his desire for another man and all the pitfalls that come along with it, or return to his girlfriend and live out the safe half-life he carved for himself.
This is a great short story. I was cheering for Cole when he found the courage to explore what he really wanted, and for Eric's longtime fantasy. Taboo Desires is an emotional and sexy read. I would have loved for it to be longer, but I feel that way about all books I enjoy. I just don’t want to see them end.
Available from Samhain Publishing
Monday, September 3, 2007
Micah smiled. “Not far.”
After about a ten minute ride, Raul pulled to a stop, breaking up our make out session. When we got out, I saw that we were at the beach house just on the edge of my property. Really it was more like a small studio apartment my mother had built when she was younger. She had enjoyed the sound of the sea crashing on the rocks and would come here when she felt overwhelmed by the outside world.
“Thanks Raul. We’ll call in the morning when we’re ready to leave.”
“You’re welcome Micah. Have a good night,” Raul said as he got back in the car and left.
Micah turned to me. “Thought we could use some time alone. Come on.”
I was surprised when we walked in. The entire place was lit by candlelight. Music played softly. The scent of the vanilla candles lingered in the air. I smiled thinking that if I was a woman and not already having sex with Micah, I’d fall right into this seduction trap. Hell, even being a man, I was falling into Micah’s romantic seduction. Near the bed, I noticed a massage table had been set up.
Micah moved up behind me and placed a blindfold over my eyes. “Now that you’ve seen my work, it’s time you felt it.” Micah kissed my neck and the familiar tingling in my cock started.
Micah moved around, his fingertips sliding across my clothing. He slowly unbuttoned my shirt. Micah ran his hands up my abs then pecs to my shoulders and pushed the shirt off so it fell to the floor. Déjà vu. I had done the same to Micah the first night we met.
Micah moved his hands to my waist and unbuckled the belt then the pants. He knelt and pulled the clothing with him. He helped me step out of the clothing. Everything was still and I suddenly had the image of Micah smiling at my hardening cock. Blood rushed through my burning veins, biting back a moan.
I jumped when Micah used his tongue and lightly teased the tip. My groan ripped lose. My hips thrust forward wanting more.
“Not yet, baby.”
Micah stood and led me to the massage table and helped me lie down on my stomach. Again, he stilled and I waited anxiously for his touch. Even blindfolded, I could feel his gaze racking along my backside.
After a few minutes I heard his hands rubbing together, the oil making gasping noises as it was evenly distributed in his palms. His hands were warm when they lay lightly on my shoulders. His strokes were light and smooth as his hands traveled down my back, spreading the oil until my entire back was covered. His strokes were long and sensuous, almost teasing. When his palms reached the bottom of my back, Micah would let his fingers dance across my ass, sending goose bumps over my skin.
My muscles twitched under his hands, contracting and releasing with each movement as sighs and moans of pleasure escaped. Micah worked his way around my back until he reached the shoulders once more, kneading them. The tension and knots swiftly melted away.
Micah moved back to my ass and kneaded each cheek.. He moved down one leg and gently massaged the calf, then thigh making sure that his fingers brushed the inner most thigh near my groin. He repeated the same on the other leg. I shivered with rising desire.
“Turn over Kameron,” Micah said softly when my backside was completely done.
I turned feeling relaxed and a lot like jelly. I doubted my legs would even hold my weight if I tried to stand. However, that thought quickly fled when the air hit my burning cock. It was stiff and standing straight up just waiting for a flag for it to fly.
Micah ignored it and began at my feet, spreading the oil evenly and gently working each toe and the arch.
“Are you sure you’re in the right business?” I asked with a sigh.
Micah chuckled. “I’m sure.”
Micah moved up a leg, again brushing his fingertips right in the groin area, making my cock twitch. Micah repeated the motion on the other foot and leg still using long, gentle strokes. I gasped when his fingertips brushed the base of my balls.
Next Micah took my hand. He held it tenderly and was careful to work at each joint of the finger and used his thumbs to rub the palms. His hands worked up my forearm to the shoulder then Micah switched to the other arm. He moved to stand at my head and gently rubbed the oil over my chest and abs, his fingertips teasing my nipples that were taut and wanting attention as much as my cock. My breath quickened knowing there was little skin left for him to massage.
I heard the shuffle of cloth and turned my head to the left. I wanted to rip the blindfold from my eyes and see the gorgeous form of my lover. Somehow I was able to control the urge and keep my arms laying at my sides.
I felt Micah crawl on the table between my legs. My hips bucked up when he grasped my cock. I moaned as the warmth of Micah’s hands surrounded me. Micah in turn continued his soft movements, stroking and massaging my balls. I growled with frustration wanting it harder and faster.
“Please Micah.” I pleaded, voice cracking. I was filled with want and begging for release.
Micah gave in and took my length into his mouth. My hips bucked to Micah’s pace After all the teasing I didn’t last too long. I cried out his name as I climaxed, forcing his cum deep into his lover’s throat.
Micah released me and crawled up to lay his body on top mine. He ran his hands through my hair taking the blindfold off. We kissed passionately, tongues tangling together.
“You’ve got very talented hands and mouth,” I said with a smile.
“Let me remind you what else I have that is talented.” Micah sat up and placed one of my legs on each of his shoulders. He lubricated his hard, aching cock then gently placed the tip at my opening. Micah captured my gaze, amber locking with blue. He pushed in and we groaned, our gaze never wavering. Micah’s desire drove him to a fast pace, thrusting in and out hard. I lifted his hips, letting my lover slide deeper within. I watched mesmerized as he broke our gaze, throwing his head back, and cried out.
Micah gently lowered my legs and got up after he caught his breath. He went to the bedside table and poured out two glasses of champagne. He carried the glasses to the bed and sat when I managed to roll off the massage table and join him. He handed me a glass and raised his.
“To true love.”
I smiled and raised his glass. “To everlasting love.”
I've been thinking about this all week because if you asked me if I was into any of these things I would say a resounding: no! Not to criticise anyone who is, but none of these issues has ever, ever been my thang.
So non-consensual to the extent the guy doesn't really know what is going on, not that he's really unhappy about it (until afterwards). And bestiality in that although some dragons in my world are clearly as intelligent as humans, Plegura is not. As Jarvice, rather diplomatically put it:
"Plegura is a swift flier; her flaming breath charred this whole valley. She is, as you remarked, most beautiful—but not, it must be said, much of a conversationalist."
And as for MPREG, it is a male pregnancy but really more like a severe skin infection than a pseudo-uterine fetishy sort of thing. Is this starting to sound like a very long set of excuses?
I don't even really remember what was going through my head when I started writing this story but so far the response seems to have been good. I was in Samhain's top 10 for the almost a week and received mentions form TA Chase, Mrs. Giggles and Elisa.
So I think one thing you learn as a writer... you never really know what you will end up writing about and arbitrary rules and categories don't matter when the fingers hit the keys. The story must out!